Home > Flash Fiction, Horror > Happy Birthday Little Buddy

Happy Birthday Little Buddy

This weekend saw us celebrate my youngest son’s sixth birthday. He was happy as he laughed and said, “Wow! Cool!”

That is about as good as it gets. Just sharing simple happiness over simple things. Cake, laughter and a little boy.

Everyone seems to be feeling better and recovering. I don’t like my family hurting or feeling sick, so this is a big improvement.

Finally, I tried New Castle Werewolf, Blood Red Ale this weekend. Pretty good stuff, but just a little to bitter on the finish. I would give it a six out of ten.

Otherwise, I don’t have very much to say. At least not today.

L. E. White

Spit and Polish

The floor was really something to marvel at. I had made it by gluing crumpled bits of brown paper down with plain old white school glue. The pattern that it made looked like really expensive custom flooring but it had cost almost nothing.

The trick was to coat it in about six coats of that thick varnish that they use on bars. That is what made the floor hard enough to walk on without tearing up. It also gave it a shine that you could see your reflection in.

Until your reflection was obscured by blood.

I wondered if it would be easier to clean blood off of this floor. I wondered if my wife would even try.

There was a clicking sound from the claws as it walked towards me. I wanted to yell at it for tearing up the finish but I couldn’t make a sound. I didn’t even let my wife wear heels out here. I loved the way she looked in those heels. I really loved it when they were all she wore.

I never let her wear them out here though now I wished that I had.

I hope this floor is easy to clean, that the varnish lets her just mop my blood right off of it. My blood, and whatever is left of me when that thing finishes with me.

The clicking stops and I wonder why.

It stops coming closer.

Why did it stop coming after me?

Then I hear clicking again, but it is farther away. It is different.

When I realize that my wife is wearing her heels and walking though the kitchen towards us I try to scream out a warning. I open my mouth to yell.

But I still can’t make a sound. The hole in my throat won’t let me.

 

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Categories: Flash Fiction, Horror
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